


Inheritance

by DjaqtheRipper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Multi, Paganism, Polyamory, Wheel of the Year, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27159566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjaqtheRipper/pseuds/DjaqtheRipper
Summary: Albion is upon them and for all appearances, every dream they've fought for has been realized. There's just one problem: the King and Queen of Camelot need an heir.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Lancelot du Lac/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 109





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Divergent from Canon. Basically, Arthur came back to life immediately instead of Merlin having to wait for him till present day.

Arthur needs an heir. Even for the peace that has fallen over Camelot, the days of plenty, their hold on the land is uncertain. An heir would bring some measure of certainty that these golden days can outlive their king. 

Arthur loves Guinevere with all his being, truly, but she cannot conceive. Though they try together again and again, her body fails her in this. Complications from early womanhood had indicated that this would be the case, but it never stung until now. After each continued attempt, the king and queen lie together, skin on skin, sweat on sweat, warm and sated, and it would be perfect except his hand is low on her belly over her womb and they both know that it’s empty. Guinevere will roll onto her side to offer her husband the bare expanse of her back, and she will blink back frustrated tears. Arthur will kiss her shoulders, the back of her neck, and will smile for her through his own disappointment, which he reminds himself is not with her. He will tell her how beautiful she is, how kind, how wise, he will tell her that her inability to conceive in no way lessens his love, and eventually she will wipe away the tears and return his smile. Perhaps they will make love again, slow and languid, man and wife rather than king and queen, as though the whole of Camelot weren’t curled up in bed with them. 

Merlin notices, because of course he does. It’s Merlin’s job to notice, it’s Merlin’s _life_ to notice, because Merlin was born to serve Arthur, and serve Arthur he shall. He wasn’t born to love his once and future king, but there are times when he feels like he was. When Arthur’s eyes find his across a room full of chaos, when Merlin can sense the threat of danger like lightning crackling in the air. Things have changed since Arthur ascended the throne, since Merlin was appointed Court Sorcerer, and sometimes it’s absurd, the feasts with visiting nobility, the parade trots through the square to start festivals, and if Arthur seems distant, if Merlin can only wait for the man to talk about the shadows looming behind his eyes, well, it’s still _them,_ really. Just Arthur and Merlin, and there are still jokes, still fights that aren’t fights, the weight of all their shared adventures culminating in this strange new world they’ve built together. There are still nights where Merlin returns from healing the sick in surrounding villages and it’s long past dark, close on midnight, and though he’s been gone all day for some reason there’s light glowing from under the door to his chambers. Something in him still prickles with suspicion, though he can sense no magic at work, until he gingerly prods the door open and finds Arthur asleep in his chair by the fire, where he’d waited for Merlin to come home. 

If Merlin waits a moment longer than he should to wake Arthur up, so he can imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to come home to this and have it actually be his, this infuriating, wonderful man waiting for him to return. In that moment Merlin can picture years- all the escapes into the forest, the escapes out of it, the teasing jokes, the rough warmth of Arthur’s hands against him, that immutable light in Arthur’s eyes that will burn bright when the cobwebs of time have dimmed his sight and lined his skin. Merlin will grow old with Arthur because Merlin was born to serve, no matter the years that pass. It was not prophesied that Merlin would live to love his king, but Merlin lives for Arthur, has lived for Arthur with every breath of his life. Loving the man is such a small step, after that. 

Guinevere understands this. Guinevere was born with her fate tangled in Arthur’s, just as Merlin was. They recognize each other for what they are. When Guinevere notices where Merlin’s eyes stray, when she sees the longing written on his face, well at least she is kind. She is good to him, as she is good to everyone, only here that pity, that kindness, chafes. Gwen has what Merlin wants because she was born to have it. Arthur and Guinevere complete each other, together forming a perfect leadership, the heart and soul of the perfect kingdom- a kingdom that would not exist without Merlin. 

Gwen and Merlin are friends, as they always were. They take long rides together, talking of nothing, and keep each other company, talking of anything and everything. They talk of Arthur, sometimes, and Gwen never directly says that she knows that Merlin is in love with her husband, but she shows it in the way she squeezes his hand and in the sweet sorrow in her eyes when she looks at him. It pains her to see it, and it’s such an honest sympathy that Merlin has to look away and change the subject. Merlin knows that Guinevere loves him too- not in the way she loves Arthur, but as someone she could have been in love with, in some other world or some other version of events, if she was not destined to be Queen of Camelot: tenderly, carefully, perhaps with a hint of curiosity. 

Gwaine and Merlin fall into a pattern. Gwaine is forward-thinking, Merlin believes, far ahead of their time, for though he is happily married now, to some Lady as part of a truce with a rising kingdom, he still falls into bed with Merlin as often as not. His wife Lady Katherine and her handmaid have a similar arrangement, Gwaine says, and from the way the two ladies can be seen giggling and gossiping together at every feast, stroking each other’s hair and eating off each other’s forks at feasts, Merlin believes it. Lady Katherine, for her part, is a good match for Gwaine: bright, spirited, quick-witted. She keeps him on his toes. Merlin, with all his charms and potions, could not have predicted a better match. However, the old ties run deep, and the adventures of their early days bind Merlin and Gwaine. Gwaine tells Merlin he loves him, and Merlin believes it, but he knows that once Gwaine has children, things will change. Gwaine says he is in no rush, but Lady Katherine is, and Merlin knows that Gwaine wants to be a father. Gwaine will come to Merlin’s chambers less frequently and some day he won’t come at all. Merlin can see it so clearly, as clearly as though it came to him in a vision, but he makes the most of each visit. Since Gwaine got married, Merlin has a hard time sleeping in bed with him, preferring to stay awake and make their time together last longer. 

Merlin is content, for the most part. They all are. Magic has returned and Albion is upon them, at long (long) last. Everything they’ve fought for has been realized, and Merlin, for all intents and purposes, is happy. He assumes Arthur is happy as well. 

That is why the events of Samhain surprise him. 


	2. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of ancestors, Merlin has an idea for how Arthur and Gwen could have an heir, with the help of a little magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samhain (pronounced “Sow-in”) is a pagan holiday celebrating the pagan New Year and the lives of ancestors. It is the basis for the modern holiday of Halloween. It is celebrated on the night of October 31-November 1. It falls approximately between the Fall Equinox and the Winter Solstice and is an important celebration within the Wheel of the Year because it marks the end of the harvest and the beginning of the darker half of the year. It is celebrated with hearth fires and bonfires. People used to carve turnips (later pumpkins) but I am taking some liberties with how Samhain is celebrated for the story. I am a druid, so I celebrate Samhain and I have based the depiction here on how my faith community celebrates.

Samhain, like all the holidays of the Old Religion, is a wildly busy day for one perpetually overworked Court Sorcerer. Merlin may not be a servant any longer, but he still always finds himself taking on too many tasks. Merlin has taken it upon himself to make Camelot safe for those with magic, and while Arthur has firmly dedicated himself to the cause, Arthur needs educating. He’s never been much of a diplomat, either, and the Druids and those with magic are still more comfortable going through Merlin for holiday planning than directly approaching Uther’s son. Merlin also finds himself in high demand at all manner of celebrations the night of Samhain ̶̶ it seems every magical resident of Camelot wants the chance to meet the legendary Emrys. 

Merlin finds himself spending the morning coaching the Knights of the Round Table in carving turnips to hang around the castle. His afternoon is dedicated to playing emissary to the Druid statesman appointed with the task of helping Arthur lead the lighting of the Samhain bonfires on the parapets. The rest of the day is spent following an out-of-his-depth Arthur around while they prepare for the evening’s festivities. 

By the time the festivities actually start, Merlin is exhausted. Through his exhaustion, there is excitement. It is worth every hour of work to see magic blossom in Camelot. The streets are crowded with townspeople and citizens from far and wide who have come to celebrate the Old Religion being accepted by the new reign. The very air surrounding the castle is palpably electric, like a storm surging across wild plains. Statues and paintings of ancestors line the streets, adorned with carved turnip lanterns, strings of fall leaves, and plates and goblets of offerings to the dead. Even Uther’s memorial statute is decorated with candles at his feet, lighting his chiseled face from below in a fashion that Merlin is sure is unintentionally eerie. Even in death, and on Samhain of all the days in the Wheel of the Year, Uther’s presence looms. Merlin feigned ignorance, but he couldn’t help but notice Arthur this afternoon placing the candles carefully, this way and that, as though he couldn’t tell if he was doing it right. Merlin hovered about, touched by the gesture of acceptance of the Old Ways, the fact that Arthur was doing his best to respect the customs of his recently-enfranchised people. 

“Do you need help lighting those?” Merlin had asked, when lingering and watching silently, he was overwhelmed by his fondness for Arthur and couldn’t let him flounder alone any longer. 

Arthur looked up, startled, as though he had been deep in thought before Merlin spoke. “If you don’t mind.” 

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and fire sprung to life at the tips of the candles Arthur had placed so carefully at Uther’s stone feet. Arthur swallowed sharply, still somewhat overwhelmed by Merlin’s display of his gift, still shocked at how long he had hidden it in the old days, when it seemed to flow so naturally from his every gesture. It was hard for Arthur to believe that he had ever thought Merlin a simple serving boy when he was clearly so much more. 

“What else does it need?” Arthur asked, standing from where he’d knelt by the base of the statue. 

“I’m not a Druid,” Merlin corrected. “He’s your ancestor; what do you think he needs?” He added gently. 

“You’re the Court Sorcerer. As far as magic is concerned, you are the resident expert.” Arthur shrugged off Merlin’s concern. 

“Samhain is a celebration of ancestors. He was your father. How would Uther want you to remember him?” Merlin tried to pry without prying. 

“He wouldn’t want me celebrating Samhain at all.” Arthur looked away. “He would be turning in his grave if he knew that I’d adopted the Old Ways, that I’d encouraged acceptance of magic, that I’d appointed a Court Sorcerer, for God’s sake, or Goddess’ sake, or my own sake,” Arthur continued, flustered, his eyes fixed on some straining sight that Merlin was not privy to. 

“Arthur,” Merlin cautioned, drawing him back from his distractions. “You did the right thing. You’re a better king than your father because you accept the gifts of your people for what they are: gifts.” When Arthur seemed unmoved, Merlin continued. “Before magic was welcomed once more in Camelot, I and others like me lived each day in fear of persecution or death because of something we were born with. My life is better because of your decision, and I am not alone. If Uther couldn’t see that it was the right choice, well then it’s just proof that you’re a better king than he was.” 

As Merlin spoke, Arthur’s face cleared, as though a cloud had merely passed behind his eyes. When Merlin finished, Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Thank you, Merlin.” 

It was as it had always been between the two of them: no more needed to be said. 

The festivities start at sundown and Merlin climbs to the parapet where Arthur and Gwen are holding hands and surveying the crowd, waving to their onlookers. Candles, turnip jack-o-lanterns, and torches light up the main square, where a massive crowd has gathered. When the last light has left the sky, Merlin looks to Arthur for the signal. Arthur raises his sword and Merlin’s eyes burn gold. Fires spring alight at every signal hearth on the parapets, all around the castle. The crowd cheers and the festivities begin in earnest. 

Later that night, the knights are gathered around a fire on the parapet, drinking from a keg of ale that Gwaine and Elyan had dragged to the top of the wall to supply their own festivities. The mood is high, but Arthur is quiet, staring into the fire, periodically prodding it with a fire prong. They’re telling stories of comrades killed in battle, of loved ones lost. A toast is made to Lancelot. Arthur leads a toast to Mordred that Merlin refuses to partake in. Merlin raises a toast to Gaius, lost to illness the year before, and then silently drinks to Morgana, and for how differently her life would have been if she lived in the Camelot they’ve built, the Camelot she almost destroyed before it ever came to fruition. 

Gwaine and Merlin have been sharing looks all night, and Merlin can feel himself flushing from the drink and the heat in Gwaine’s eyes. It’s a look that means Gwaine is coming to Merlin’s bed tonight, and Merlin can feel himself looking forward to when the round table has dispersed and he can actually touch Gwaine the way he wants to. It’s not that the other knights care ̶̶ they’d been very supportive of Gwaine’s relationship with Merlin, talking about what a lucky dog he is that his wife lets him sleep with whoever he wants ̶̶ but Merlin can’t bear to be fully happy when he can tell Arthur is worried about something. As the Dragon had said, they are two sides of the same coin. When Arthur is upset, Merlin is too focused on what’s going on with Arthur to relax into himself entirely. However, the anticipation is wonderful, so Merlin simply enjoys knowing that tonight he will find himself in bed with Gwaine, that they will make love and Merlin will stay awake to treasure their time together before Gwaine has to return to his wife and other obligations. 

Just as he’s relishing the prospect, Gwaine raises his flagon. 

“I… have an...announcement to make!” Gwaine bellows, splashing ale all over the paving stones. The knights are laughing at his drunken manner, and they help him to his feet for his speech. 

“What is it, Gwaine?” Percival asks, supporting Gwaine’s weight. Elyan rises to help him on the other side. 

“On this fine Samhain eve, when we celebrate our ancestors, I have news.” Gwaine continues, unfazed. 

“Oh come on, Gwaine, what is it?” Merlin calls back over the knights’ jostling. Gwaine sobers considerably and glances at Merlin before spreading his arms wide, as though he is a magnificent prophet. 

“In future Samhains, when I am dead and gone, I will have ancestors to remember me.” Gwaine looks back at Merlin, and Merlin can tell from the way Gwaine’s eyes have lost their heat that this is something Gwaine did not want to tell Merlin. “The good Lady Katherine, my dear wife, is carrying my child!” 

As soon as he’s made the announcement he disappears into the throng of knights clapping him on the shoulders, hugging him, insisting on refilling his flagon with more ale. There are cheers all around ̶̶ but Merlin cannot cheer. This is what he’d always feared: that Gwaine would leave him for his family, would settle down with his children and wouldn’t have time for Merlin anymore. Merlin feels the beginnings of an irrevocable loss, anxiety and worry creeping in. He’s happy for Gwaine ̶̶ he is ̶̶ and he’s happy that Camelot will continue, that the legacy of the Knights of the Round Table will live on after them, as Gwaine had said. But selfishly, and he knows it is selfish, he wanted Gwaine to stay childless so that they could carry on as they had been, without Gwaine having to split his time between being a father and being a lover. 

The only other person who seems as shocked and upset about this revelation is Arthur, who is tight-lipped and pale. As the cheers die down, Arthur stands and says his first words of the evening. 

“Congratulations, Gwaine. Our dream, the Camelot we have built together, it will be passed on to a new generation. You should be proud. You will be a wonderful father. And your child will have all the Knights of the Round Table and the Court Sorcerer as uncles!” He smiles, but it is thin and tired. He raises a toast. The knights cheer anyway, raising their flagons. Even Merlin raises his glass and drinks with them, but he finds it doesn’t warm the pit in his stomach. 

“And with that,” Arthur continues when the toast has ended, “ I will turn in for the night. Goodnight, gentlemen.” 

Arthur makes his goodbyes, receiving his fair share of claps on the shoulders and hugs from his men. However, all the attention is still on Gwaine, so it is easy for Arthur to slip away unheeded, which he does, but only after beckoning to Merlin to follow him. 

Without a word exchanged between them, Merlin follows Arthur’s worn steps up the tower to Merlin’s chambers, those that had belonged to Gaius before his passing. The space that had felt so cramped when Merlin and Gaius shared it now feels overwhelmingly huge, especially when dark falls. Darkness makes the rooms bigger. With Arthur in tow, the rooms feel the right size. 

Merlin moves forward to open the door for Arthur, as was his habit when he was a servant ̶̶ a habit he has been unable to break after rising in the court’s hierarchy. Arthur moves immediately to the chair by the fire, where Merlin has found him so many times upon his return home. He sinks, seemingly exhausted, into the chair and cradles his face in one hand, as though the weight of keeping his head held high has worn him down to nothing. Merlin closes the door behind them and busies himself lighting candles. 

“Why don’t you use magic?” Arthur asks, more tired than curious. 

“Habit,” Merlin smiles, and continues lighting the candles by hand. “It makes the space feel smaller. It’s too big with Gaius gone.” 

When all the lamps have been lit, Merlin bends to the fire and mutters an ancient spell, memorized so long ago he can’t remember where he learned it. His eyes flash gold and a fire roars to life in the grate. Arthur watches pensively, absorbed in the process. 

“All those years,” Arthur mutters. Merlin, rising in pursuit of a chair, asks, “Sorry?” 

“I can’t believe I never guessed it. That you never told me.” 

“You would’ve had my head,” Merlin sighs. 

“Would I?” Arthur asks, seemingly without desiring an answer. “I like to think I would’ve done better by you than that.” 

Showing off a little, Merlin levitates the chair over to the fireplace and sets it delicately across from Arthur. Arthur gives a low laugh, like he knows Merlin was trying to work one out of him. “Perhaps,” Merlin concedes. “Perhaps you wouldn’t have had my head.” Arthur smiles in earnest and gestures to the recently magicked chair, waiting for Merlin to sit. 

“But no matter what had passed between us, I was Uther’s son.” Arthur concludes. “I will always be Uther’s son,” he admits, and looks deep into the fire, though what he finds there, Merlin knows not. They stare into the fire together for some time, comfortable with the silence. Arthur will speak when he’s ready, Merlin has learned, and is prepared to wait, as he has waited so many times before. 

“My father used to think it was better to be feared than to be loved. Now I am not so sure I agree.” Arthur says, after some time. “This new kingdom we have built, this Albion the Druids speak of, it is based more in love than in fear. It makes me think my father was wrong. It makes me wonder what else he was wrong about.” 

“Tonight is Samhain,” Merlin adds softly, chancing a glance at Arthur. “Uther looms close tonight. Closer than usual.” 

“He’s not the only one.” Arthur says without looking up from the fire. 

“What other presence are you feeling this night?” Merlin prompts. 

Arthur's voice is rough when he speaks. “My mother.” Merlin sees in the light of the fire that his eyes are gleaming, damp. 

“What’s making you think of your mother tonight?” Merlin frowns. 

“I think of my mother,” Arthur begins, now pointedly not looking at Merlin, “because of what I want to ask of you.” 

“I’m… a bit lost.” Merlin feigns, mostly so that Arthur will have the courage to speak openly. Arthur always gets brave when he thinks Merlin is being slow, as though to make up for the pair of them combined. 

“With Gwaine’s baby on the way. What all of Camelot has been thinking. What Guinevere can’t stop thinking about. You must be thinking it. ” Arthur sighs, scrubbing his face roughly with his hands, as though to rid himself of any trace of tears. When he has composed himself, he meets Merlin’s eyes, finally. In the light of the fire, Merlin can see the burdens weighing on Arthur, the way they carve lines around his eyes and mouth, the way he looks now like an old man, for all that there isn’t a streak of silver in his hair. Merlin wants to share those burdens and at least let them grow old together. 

“Camelot needs an heir.” Arthur states plainly. 

“And you want to use magic?” 

“Yes.” Arthur looks into the fire again. “No. I don’t know.” Arthur swallows roughly around something rising in his chest. “I don’t want what happened to my mother to happen to Gwen. I won’t lose her.” 

The logs crackle and spit embers on the flagstones. The dark moves around them with the shapes of all the ancestors walking the earth tonight. Merlin is sure that Arthur’s mother is close at hand, waiting with bated breath in the room with them, perhaps staring into the fire as well. 

“There are other ways of using magic to conceive,” Merlin begins, “rather than trading a life for a life. Nimue was a dark sorcerer. Very powerful, certainly, but she had a certain darkness about her. I met her once or twice, and I could feel the darkness on her. She would rather be feared than loved.” 

“Like my father.” 

“Yes.” 

Arthur sighs and rubs at his eyes with one hand. “What other ways are there?” 

Merlin speaks lightly, trying to be encouraging. “You could find a surrogate. That wouldn’t even require magic.” 

Arthur shakes his head. “It needs to be Gwen’s heir, not just mine. The child of both a royal and a common line. And there are many who followed my father who will not accept Gwen as Queen unless my child is hers.” 

“Then there is still one other way,” Merlin continues, mind racing at what he’s about to propose. “You could perform a ritual of souls ̶̶ mingle the essence of your soul with Gwen’s. Then you could place the resulting essence in a surrogate.” 

“So there would be nothing… physical? Between me and the surrogate?” Arthur looks eager. More than that, Arthur looks desperate. Merlin can’t bear to see the desperation writ plain across his features like that. Perhaps it is only if Arthur is desperate that Merlin can get what he wants, or some fraction of it. 

“Not exactly.” Merlin looks away. Arthur’s eyes are searching, finding nothing on Merlin’s schooled expression. 

“So how would it work, then? These… essences?” Arthur prompts. 

“There is a physical side. You would need a surrogate with strong magical abilities. They would bring the essences into themself and then the two of you… you would have to create a life together. ” 

“I don’t know any women who are strong in magic.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a woman.” Merlin admits. 

“A man could… a man could conceive… with magic?” 

“So much is possible with magic. Magic goes so far beyond biology. It is a product of it, but it has outgrown its parentage.” 

“That sounds…utterly insane. Are you sure you’re not making this up, Merlin?” Arthur scolds. 

“I’m sure!” Merlin laughs. “It’s been done in Druid communities where there are few women, so they can keep the birth rate up.” 

“Then it’s not dangerous? It’s not… what happened to my mother wouldn’t happen to the surrogate?” The momentary humor is forgotten, and Arthur looks as worried as ever. And yet… there is hope. His face looks young again, for all his worry, and Merlin feels that he has shared some of the burden. If only Arthur could understand how much of the burden he intends to share. 

“There are some dangers involved, as with the bearing of any child. But the sacrifice is that of any parent, not a life for a life.” 

Arthur mulls this over for a minute. 

“Are you sure you’re not putting me on?” 

Merlin raises his right hand, as though swearing an oath. “I promise I’m not putting you on.” 

“Then who do I trust enough to bear mine and Gwen’s heir, who is also strong with magic?” 

Merlin sighs. Arthur really can be hopelessly obtuse at times. 

Arthur continues. “I mean, there are the other members of the Round Table, but that just leaves the knights….” 

“Does it, Arthur?” Merlin asks incredulously. “Does it just include the knights?” 

“...and none of the knights are strong in magic, at least none that I know….” 

“Who do you know who is strong in magic?” Merlin finally forces out. 

“.... well that just leaves….” Arthur’s jaw visibly drops. 

“Yes?” Merlin groans. 

“That just leaves you.” 

“As always, I am the last person you think of. You’d think that after everything we’ve been through, after appointing my your bloody Court Sorcerer, you’d at least remember that I exist, for once, but _no_ ̶̶ .” 

“I trust you.” Arthur says earnestly, and Merlin stops his diatribe. “I trust _you_ , Merlin. And I couldn’t bear it if any harm came to you because of me, so I need you to promise me, _right now_ before I even bring this up with Gwen, that you won’t get hurt if she says yes to this whole absurd situation.” 

Merlin can’t breathe. Of course he’ll get hurt, just not in the way Arthur is thinking. How could he not get hurt, when this is the man he loves, the man he’s almost died for a hundred times over, the man he lives for, and he might soon be _carrying his heir_ and still not have his love reciprocated? Maybe it’s because it’s Samhain and the veil between the worlds is thinner, but he can almost hear Gaius admonishing him for even offering such a thing, for even telling Arthur that it was possible. Of course he’ll get hurt. 

But there’s Albion to think of, the most glorious kingdom to ever grace the earth, but a kingdom without an heir. Merlin has read the histories of all the wars that follow, the power struggles that erupt when a good king dies without a successor in place. Merlin and Arthur have built this world together and they will do everything in their power to make sure it outlives them. 

“I wouldn’t get hurt,” Merlin lies. 

“Do you promise me?” Arthur asks, with the commanding voice of a great king. 

“I promise.” Merlin lies again. 

“Good.” Arthur says, rising. “Then I’ll talk to Gwen, see what she thinks.” Arthur turns to leave. “But Arthur?” Merlin hastens to catch Arthur before he reaches the door. 

“Yes?” 

“There’s still the physical part. Would you be willing to….with me?” 

Arthur clasps Merlin’s shoulder. “With everything we’ve been through together? It would be an honor to have the greatest sorcerer who ever lived carry my heir, even if he was the worst servant I ever had.” Arthur winks. “I’ve tended your wounds and you’ve tended mine. We’ve fought against each other, but we’ve always fought together. I would not be King of Camelot if it was not for you. After everything, that’s such a small step, isn’t it?” 

“But then… you’ve… with other men?” Merlin asks, more curious than shocked. 

“Yes, long ago.” Off Merlin’s look, Arthur continues, “Lancelot. Gwen wasn’t the only one to fall under his charms. There were others, before then, but none after. It seems… fitting that you would be the only man since Lancelot, and I think Gwen would agree. And it would only be for the ceremony, right?” 

“Of course,” Merlin agrees, and his heart breaks. 


	3. INTERLUDE: A Conversation Between the Queen and King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between Arthur and Guinevere, occurring immediately after the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is pretty dialogue-heavy. Features some heterosexual romance but honestly the point of this chapter is that Gwen ships Merthur.

The night of Samhain, as soon as he’d finished talking to Merlin, Arthur had gone back to his chambers, walking pensively through the castle, hands fastened behind his back, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him but seeing nothing. When he reached his destination, he noticed a light flickering below the door. Still deep in thought, he opened the door.

Gwen was sitting by the fire, mending one of Arthur’s shirts, torn during a bout with Percival the day before. “I’m not used to having nothing to do with my hands,” she complained, “Even though I haven’t been a servant for years, I still need to feel useful, keep myself occupied.”  
Arthur smiled softly and told her that Queens are plenty useful. Guinevere scoffed.   
“Of course they are, Arthur, but I’m not used to sitting around all day.” Guinevere pointed out.  
“Once a serving girl, always a serving girl?” Arthur cracked, smiling in earnest.  
“But you knew that when you married me,” Gwen smiled in return and finally set aside the stitching in a mending basket she’d “acquired” (though Arthur believed “stolen” was more apt) from one of her handmaids. She rose to meet Arthur in earnest, approaching him carefully. When he lifted his arms for her, she leaned into him and rested her cheek against his heart.  
“What were you thinking about before you came in?” She asked softly, trying not to disturb him.  
“Hmmm?”  
“Even now your mind is on something else, my lord,” she prompted teasingly.  
“I was speaking with Merlin.”  
“Of course.”  
After that got no response, she tried again. “What about?”  
Arthur hummed low and wrapped his arms around her. “How much I love you.”  
Gwen smiled again, just for herself, just because he still made her happy after all these years. “Sounds like a productive talk. Did he have anything to contribute?”  
Arthur sighed and pulled back, just enough to hold both of Gwen’s hands in both of his. “I approached him with a problem and he had an… shall we say, interesting?... solution.”  
“So Merlin solved all your problems again.”  
“He doesn’t solve all my problems!” Arthur insisted.  
Gwen immediately corrected him, “You can admit to me that he does. I won’t let it go to his head. Promise.”  
“Fine,” Arthur conceded, “Merlin solves all of my problems.”  
“Good lad,” Gwen praised, and kissed him on the cheek as a reward. Arthur smiled in spite of himself, but his face immediately reverted to the thoughtful gaze he had worn on his walk from Merlin’s chambers.  
“What’s the one problem we’ve had that we thought Merlin couldn’t solve?”  
Gwen thought for a moment and as she thought her face fell. “You talked about… with Merlin?”  
“Was I not supposed to?” Arthur inquired.  
“No. Yes. I should have assumed, I suppose, you talk to Merlin about everything.” Gwen couldn’t help herself, she felt fast tears rushing to her eyes. “I’m not… upset with you. I’m just….ashamed maybe isn’t the right word. I just thought we were keeping that between us.”  
Arthur, with a tenderness only few had seen from him, wiped her tears away.  
“I’m sorry if I betrayed your trust. I should have asked first.”  
“No, it’s fine, really.” Gwen tried to smile, but it didn’t come easily this time. “I’m sorry. It’s so personal, such a personal failing-”  
“-it’s not a failing-”  
“-I just wish I could be the perfect Queen for you-”  
“-you _are_ the perfect Queen for me-”  
“-I just feel like it’s my fault-”  
“-it’s not your fault.” Arthur soothed, and hugged her closely. When she had stopped crying he pulled back.  
“What if I told you that he had a solution?”  
Gwen blinked rapidly, wiping tears away with the palm of her hand. “Did he?”  
“He might.” Arthur smiled at her then, radiantly, but trying to contain himself. She never wanted him to temper that radiance.  
“What’s his solution?” she asked, curious in spite of her earlier emotional upswell.  
Arthur told her.  
“So it would be both of ours?’ she asked hopefully.   
“Yes.”  
“And Merlin’s, I suppose?”  
“No, he’d just be the surrogate. It would be our baby. Yours and mine.”  
“Your heir.” Gwen pointed out.  
“Our heir.” He took her hands. “It’s important to me that you would be the mother of my baby. I don’t want an heir that isn’t both of ours.”  
“And you told Merlin that?”  
“Of course!”  
“Thank you.” Gwen considered for a moment. “I’ve never really liked the thought of carrying children. All the risks, the danger, the pain… I was willing to put that aside when I married you, because you’re the King and Camelot needs an heir, but I still didn’t want to think about what would come after conception. The conception part I like, or at least all the activities leading up to it.” she reassured Arthur, who looked visibly relieved. “And you would… with Merlin?”  
“I mean, he did say it was a necessary part of the whole...operation.”  
“Did he?” Gwen said thoughtfully, all her long talks with Merlin, their long rides together, all the things that went without saying rising to mind. “Then you need to tell him.”  
“Tell him what?” Arthur tried to laugh.  
“Do you remember what you told me last spring? That other Druid holiday, what’s it called?”  
“I’m not sure I-”  
“Beltane!” Gwen remembered. “What you told me at Beltane, when we went to the fertility fires together?”   
“I was so drunk, I probably would’ve said anything.”  
Gwen tapped his nose. “But you didn’t say anything. You said one very specific thing. Do you really not remember?”  
“Of course I remember.”  
“Then you have to tell him, Arthur.”  
“And you’d be okay with that? If I told him?”  
Gwen sighed. “I know what it’s like to be in love with more than one person at once. It’s always been you who isn’t okay with that. Everything with Lancelot… It was never that I didn’t love you, too. Everything could have been so different if you knew then how it feels.” Gwen looked away. “But you know now. And I remember. So of course, that would be okay. After everything you two have been through together? He’s as much responsible for this kingdom as we are. I’d be honored to have the greatest sorcerer in history carry my child. Who knows, perhaps our child will be born with magic, and then you’ll have truly brought magic back to Camelot.”  
Arthur looked at her carefully. “So you’d be fine if Merlin was our surrogate?”  
Gwen met his eyes evenly. “I wouldn’t ask it of anyone else. Come on, Arthur, he’s the perfect choice!”  
“So you’re really willing to do this with me? With us?”  
Gwen’s face grew stony. “On one condition.”  
“Anything,” Arthur grinned, kissing her fingertips. “Anything you ask.”  
“You have to tell Merlin what you told me at Beltane.”


	4. Yule, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine and Merlin have a conversation about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yule is the pagan celebration of the winter solstice. It’s the pre-Christian winter holiday that shares a lot of traditions with Christmas. As always, I’ve adapted the traditions from the way my faith community celebrates.

Winter comes early after Samhain. Merlin takes advantage of the frequent snowfall to coax Gwaine to stay the night instead of travelling home through the cold. They burrow together into Merlin’s bed and hide under the blankets, telling stories (most of which are only half-remembered and wildly embellished) and filthy jokes they’ve heard in taverns. They pointedly do not talk about Lady Katharine or the child she is expecting. Merlin and Gwaine make slow, languid love to stay warm, as though they have all the time in the world when they both know they don’t. Lady Katharine is due between Ostara and Beltane, sometime in April, her midwife believes. It’s easy to pretend, in the darkest depths of winter, that spring will never come, that they can always stay like this, buried in blankets, warm and close, with only the obligations they have always had to each other and the world around them. Merlin has privately given himself until the snow begins to melt to make his peace with Gwaine and bid him friendship in the next stage of his life. 

By mid-December, fires burn in the hallways of Camelot at all hours, both for light and for much-needed warmth. The fortress of the castle is chilly, but only in temperature. Spirits are high in the days leading up to Yule. The drafty halls are lined with streamers of pine needles and mistletoe. The Knights have dragged back evergreen trees from their hunting trips and there is an evergreen in every corner. Snow lines the parapets, and the Knights who march along them build fires and gather around them, warming their hands and faces, sneaking sips of corn liquor from horns they carry in their belts. 

Arthur, in preparation for the holiday, has himself felled a massive Yule tree which has taken up residence in the throne room. Guinevere and an army of handmaids have taken it upon themselves to fashion colorful decorations out of bright fabric. The effect is glorious. The patterned cottons and shining silks catch the light from the fires and reflect, making the room feel smaller and warmer. On the night of the solstice there will be a grand feast for any citizen who wishes to attend, and the brigade of kitchen staff are busy for a month, preparing preserved meats and fruits from the harvest, as well as an assortment of cakes, breads, and stews. Casks of wine are driven by wagon from all the neighboring kingdoms. (“Always good to encourage trade,” Arthur would justify, as though Uther was listening.) 

The whole of Camelot is expected to turn out for the feast. Everyone credits Arthur for his thoughtfulness for his people during the hardest part of the year, but in truth it was Guinevere’s idea to hold the event. “We have so much here,” she reminded a King who had known his share of hardship, but never dearth. “I remember the hard winters, still,” she told Arthur, “when the stores from the harvest are stretched thin and you’re always cold and it seems like forever until the sun will come again.” Merlin, for his part, remembered the hard winters all too well, back in Ealdor, and fully supported the idea of feeding those in need, not to mention Arthur hosting a celebration for his people at a time when they most needed celebration. If it would have special meaning for those with magic, that was only an added bonus. 

Arthur hasn’t brought up the conversation he and Merlin had at Samhain, so Merlin assumes he decided against it. He has no idea that Gwen has approved, or at what price.

Yule dawns bright and cold in Camelot, with fresh snow carpeting the ground and carols sung out of every window. The holiday hovers in the air, which is crisp and bright, and filters in through Merlin’s window.

Merlin is already awake, practicing a charm to enchant the Yule tree with light at tonight’s festivities. Gwaine turns over, half asleep, and watches Merlin, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I love you like this,” he tells Merlin. “Unafraid. Free to be who you are. It was worth fighting for Camelot just to see this day.”

Merlin smiles, and the gold leaves his eyes. In spite of the fire burning brightly in the grate, the room is cold, and Merlin’s breath draws little swirls of mist. “We have both fought for this day,” Merlin says, as he sits at the edge of the bed. Gwaine sits up slowly, careful not to disturb Merlin. “We have made this world ourselves, in our own image,” Merlin continues. 

“So now what?” Gwaine asks, catching Merlin’s hand in both of his. “We have made the world, now how do we rule it?” 

Merlin hesitates. To buy time, he pulls Gwaine in for a slow kiss. They shiver together in the cold. “Come back to bed,” Gwaine groans, when they have pulled apart. 

Merlin shakes his head. “So much work to be done before tonight.” Gwaine pouts theatrically and draws himself up, the blankets cascading down his bare chest. “Please,” he asks imploringly. “Come to bed.” Merlin sighs and pulls back the covers, drawing them over himself. Gwaine pulls him close, chest to chest, Merlin’s tunic scratching Gwaine’s bare skin. 

“We have so little time,” Merlin whispers into the flushed skin over Gwaine’s heart. 

“Hmmm?” Gwaine asks, kissing Merlin’s forehead. 

“Nothing,” Merlin sighs, tucking his chin to bury in Gwaine’s warmth. “Nothing at all.” 

“I love you,” Gwaine murmurs into Merlin’s hair. Merlin shudders. 

“But for how long?” Merlin asks, finally giving voice to a fear that has sat unbidden in his head since Samhain. 

“I have loved you since we were both young and I was more foolish than I am now. You have never been a fool, Merlin, so I cannot say that I loved you when we were both young and foolish.” Gwaine says, stroking Merlin’s hair, as though to soothe him. 

“You’re going to be a father, Gwaine. You no longer have time for some dalliance with the Court Sorcerer.”

“Is that what this is to you?” Gwaine asks scornfully. “Some dalliance?”Merlin shakes his head, but the damage is done. “Is that why you never tell me you love me?” Gwaine finally asks, drawing back to scrutinize Merlin in full. 

“But the Lady Katherine-”

“—is perfectly aware of everything we share and thinks it’s good for me. Besides, I could hardly ask her to stop being in love with her handmaid, Sarah. They’ve loved each other since they were children.”

“But your child—” 

Gwaine cuts in smoothly. “My child will have the Knights of the Round Table and the Court Sorcerer as uncles and Sarah as an aunt and will be the most cared-for child in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“But surely when the child is born you’ll stop coming to see me and you won’t love me anymore.” Merlin mutters into Gwaine’s chest, barely audible. 

Gwaine pulls back to look at Merlin’s face. He watches for a moment, not saying anything, simply trying to read the man in front of him. Merlin continues, “Gwaine, I love you. I do, but this isn’t sustainable.” 

Gwaine laughs gently. At Merlin’s affronted look, he raises his hands in mock surrender and corrects himself. “Is that what you’re worried about? Is that why you don’t come to bed with me anymore?” Merlin nods meekly, silent. “Merlin,” Gwaine sighs. “You were mine long before Katharine was. And I was yours long before I became hers. The child won’t change anything. I may have to be at home more, but I will still love you and still have time for you. We can use all the help we can get, having a little one running around. Perhaps you will come to stay with us more.”

Merlin sighs and burrows deeper into Gwaine, pulling them together until he can barely tell where one of them starts and the other ends. Gwaine pets his hair delicately, and Merlin bucks his head against Gwaine’s hand. After a moment of closeness, Merlin pulls back. “But what if I had a child?” 

“With Arthur you mean?” Gwaine asks, immediately remembering a conversation he and Merlin had shortly before the weather got cold. 

“And Gwen, of course. Both of them. And me. Our child.” Merlin confirms. Gwaine kisses him on the forehead and considers. 

“Well then I suppose the same would apply: I would be an uncle and would help you take care of your little one and you would help me take care of mine. We’re a family, Merlin: you and me, me and Lady Katharine, you and Arthur and Guinevere. That’s what the Round Table means: we’re all equal and we all take care of each other.” Merlin considers that for a moment and decides the best course of action is to kiss Gwaine full on the lips, passionately and carelessly. For a moment, all is bliss, and they are as they always were. 

Before things can get too heated, Merlin pulls back. “So you’d be fine with… if I… if I carried Arthur and Gwen’s child and you had your child with Lady Katharine… you’d still want to be with me?” He asks. 

“Of course.” Gwaine pulls Merlin closer. “And our children will carry the standards of Camelot together. They will be like siblings. I will carry your child on my back and you will teach my child spells and the Druid ways and we will be a family.” 

After that, they fall back into bed together, Merlin’s spell practice forgotten for the pursuits of the flesh. 

It isn’t until later in the day, after Merlin has learned his spell, with plenty of interruption from Gwaine, when he remembers the contents of their conversation. 


End file.
